


Sonnet 4-9-3-11.

by skinnylittlered



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, hiddlestoners
Genre: F/M, Humor, Love at First Sight, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OFC falls in love with Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnet 4-9-3-11.

Akin any self-respecting pseudo-royalty whose half of the parentage owns an empire built exclusively on the masses’ latent need of making superfluous purchases, she wakes up surrounded by all things fine and none from Ikea

, skin and hair, in spite of not having been attended to, perfectly impeccable as a result of one too many hours (and a few too many zeroes) spent at various spas and beautifying centres. The room, bathed in the fresh sunlight that one – even the rich people, notwithstanding their claims to the contrary – cannot get at other time of the year other than midst spring: the nibbling coolness of the air, cancelled out by abounding vitamin D, is quiet save for the sporadic chirping of not more than a handful of birds emerging from somewhere out her window. Being a zealous adherent to the self-imposed policy of partying without the boost of alcohol, the only discomfort she experiences as she daintily steps out of the satin-holstered queen sized bed in her room is a pleasant burn in generally every muscle below the metaphorical belt and a couple above. Shivers run down her spine as, graciously yawning – everything she ever does is assertively controlled by what has become a subconscious dogma that she is a princess and her conduct is expected to meet this arbitrary title – she amply stretches, moaning as the tension is momentarily relieved. Albeit sore, she feels refreshed, elastic, sexy; the aftermath of spending the night in the oh-so-gratifying company of a skilled lover, certainly.

And a skilled lover he was. She nearly moans the memory of callused fingertips brushing over her skin, leaving it burning, resurface: silky images of their naked bodies entwined in a scorching act of predatory sensuality, selfish worshipping, and desire unadulterated.

***

Years and years of paying too little attention to any of the grossly marketed fashion journals, but a whole lot to her petty whims have taught her that, no matter how high up her ass the bottom of the dress rides, and no matter how dangerously close to her nipples the so called neckline dips, by accessorising with the most ridiculously priced, high end pieces of jewellery she can pass as some contemporary Audrey Hepburn – although with every elastic step she takes in her high heeled couture boots her junk lusciously bounces in a rather Monroe-esqe fashion. And that was the very reason she could be found attentively perusing the minimally embellished shelves in the local Tiffany’s, looking for the largest, most expensive rock she could hang on her neck without causing too much physical damage.

The pair of eyes had been pinning her ever since she entered the store, her bodyguard dubbing as chauffeur in tow. Used to attracting hot stares from men and envious gawks from females wherever she went she’d started sometime in her sixteenth year of life not to mind them, which, eventually, turned to blatant lack of perception. She didn’t notice them anymore and that was exactly why this particular one engendered such curiosity in her core that she lingered, despite being on a tight schedule, amongst the other shoppers. This one parched her skin.

***

Her father’s barely woken up, taking lazy drags from a cigar, and essentially looking at the pictures in a newspaper, unable to read even the largely sprawled across the paper headlines, when she barges into the massive living room, tying the silk sash of her robe tightly around her waist. She takes a seat in a chair near him and insistently watches as he smokes, waiting for the unspoken acknowledgement of her presence she knows she’d receive sooner or later, despite the senior having expressed on more than one occasion that it peeves him to a great extent, having to function more than the bare minimum early in the mornings.

“I’m going to marry him,” she simply states, a look of fastidious countenance and unshakable contentment easing the sharp lines of her face.

There’s a tedious pause and more smoke between them once the words are spoken as she waits for his approval. He’s never denied him a thing in her life; he wouldn’t start now, surely. When the waiting, even if in reality brief, feels like it’s drawn out for too long, she speaks again.

“Father, I feel like I’ve-“

***

“-known you my entire life.”

The eyes were hypnotic, and so was the oval cut sapphire that he’d slid on her left ring finger. Very classy, very Lady Di. The man clearly had taste. And as she looked in the deep, icy blue of his irises it seemed like the planet was back to spinning on its axis, which, to be utter bafflement, she hadn’t known to be different up to that point. The world that had never felt wrong to begin with, was now right, how it should have been all along.

No questions asked, she let herself be dragged by her newly-found lover, out of the luxurious premises of the shop, to a sleek Jaguar with beige furnishing. Her bodyguard was too busy munching a soft pretzel he’d bought from a street corner stand after having been all but kicked out of the store by his beautiful ward and her – unbeknownst to her, apparently – Oscar laureate companion, to have noticed her disappearance.

Compared to the ten minute drive to the hotel he explained to her, in that so delightfully posh English accent of his, he was staying while on a business trip, the ride on the elevator where the air was brimming with tension of all kinds, like static, was excruciating. It had all been worth her while, however, she concluded, when, safe in his room, his lips,  _Tom_ ’s lips, came crashing down on hers, perfectly moulding together as their tongues battled for dominance, hungrily, ardently. Their hands roamed each other’s body, exploring, searching for something long lost, something neither knew they lacked, they  _missed_ , something so dearly needed it turned all humanity, all sense into a primal deluge of carnality. Her sex was wetly pulsing, much like his throbbing erection, enlarged with coveting for lewd fulfilment, the mere prospect of which rushed blood to her cheeks. She was not an easy girl, she did not do this sort of thing, but, oh, his touch tormented her in ways nobody had ever managed to, and the only coherent train of thought in her mind was that she wanted it so very much, that it was right.

Strong hands forcefully pulled apart her blouse, sending the metallic buttons clicking across the floor. He didn’t take long to admire the sight, but took his sweet time placing butterfly kisses everywhere on the exposed flesh as he deftly unhooked the offending undergarment, releasing her perky breasts from their confines. She sweetly whined when his mouth latched on one of the pink nipples, fingers teasing the other, squeezing and pinching, turning her into a mess of melodic vociferations. This beautiful woman who had let him in her heart and life, who had graced his existence with her simple presence was finally his, and his only.

“Baby, please,” she looked up at him, fumbling with his belt. “I can’t wait any more; I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Her words were hoarse with lust and childish impatience, endearing, and, in spite of having wanted to prolong the prelude of their lovemaking some more, he gave in, proceeding to take off the rest of her clothes as well as his own.

Laid on the bed, looking up at him as he removes her lacy panties, she inquisitively admired his statuesque physique, trying to remember all the lines and well defined shapes, and wondering how exactly he would fit in her. Without him being her first, she was positive she’d never been with a man so abundantly endowed, but, then again, few of them were. The words that awakened her from her concerned musings were the sweetest, most considerate she had ever been addressed.

“My love, are you sure about this?”

Her nod was prompt and so was her cry as his manhood penetrated her nether regions, stretching her tight walls,  _completing_  her. For the first time in her life she felt _whole_.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a strained expression marring his godlike features. She could tell that he was making a great effort, abstaining from any movement before she gave her consent.

“I will be. Move, baby.”

The friction felt divine, like they were always meant to be like this, like they were made to be together and, lost in the myriad of sensations he stirred awake, she soon enough found herself being urged to let go.

“Come on, my love. Come for me.”

And come she did, shattering in a million pieces as her orgasm sent her swirling down a place of such unadulterated pleasure she lost herself, her call of ecstasy drawing him to his own release.

***

“Father,” she tries capturing his interest again, as she subconsciously touches her lower abdomen. “I’m pregnant.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Momma’s back.
> 
> As a very important author’s note, I’d like to say that this was meant to be shitty, and any one of you guys telling me otherwise can and will be taken as an offence. JK. Real talk now, this is my entry for quoting-shakespeare-to-duck’s SSS Call for Fic, Heaving Bosoms edition, which, in short (although she was very concise herself) is parodying the harlequin romance novels. Which are crappy as fuck. Think along the lines of FSoG and anything authored by Sandra Brown *shudders*. Now, although I’ve had the idea for a long time (publicly pissing all over Mary Sue and her male counterpart, i.e.: he’s got the most perfect dick ever, she’s never felt that way, the fell in love at first sight et al) I’ve seen the announcement only a few hours back and I’ve kinda rushed into it because I’ve wanted to submit to SSS for a long time but never found the time to write. So the crappy writing is not entirely intentional *laughs*,
> 
> yours truly, 
> 
> the author/an overexcited puppy.
> 
> Originally posted on skinnylittleredwrites.tumblr.com


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